


Pawns Leather

by Chummy



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, kinda a character study, no beta we die like men, when arent my akechi centric fics angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 11:09:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21391168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chummy/pseuds/Chummy
Summary: “You don’t feel anything once you get used to it.”—He tried to remember when he got used to it.When did the copper smell of blood no longer bother him? When did his hands stop shaking as he shot? When did lifeless figures no longer leave trails of nightmares in his sleep?
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Shido Masayoshi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Pawns Leather

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! few things about this, I basically wrote this to kinda explore Akechi before he is the Akechi we know, So akechi building his fame and status and working with Shido. Akechi down to the end thought he had Shido in his hands, none the wiser. Which wasn’t true, and just kinda showed how almost naive and blind he was. 
> 
> I feel he was just so close he couldn’t see how Shido really was the one pulling the strings not the other way around. 
> 
> Also the idea that Shido’s first and only gift to Akechi is a gun, hurts and I loved to write it. Also kinda p5r spoilers but some translations have come out and one interaction that really inspired this is him going “You don’t feel anything one you get used to it” about all the shit he’s done. Which BROKE MY HEART. 
> 
> This is basically to show he was never just evil, he isn’t a sociopath who doesn’t feel or care. He always felt, guilt, scared, disgust, but to do his job, to complete his justice, he couldn’t FEEL. It would’ve destroyed him. The irony is in the end, it didn’t matter.

He tried to remember when he got used to it.

When did the copper smell of blood no longer bother him? When did his hands stop shaking as he shot? When did lifeless figures no longer leave trails of nightmares in his sleep? 

Maybe he’d always been like that, no?

One thing that had always remained was his anger. From the moment he was old enough to comprehend how shit his life was compared to everyone else, the moment he learned of his father's true identity, that fury festered and boiled for years. 

Anger makes you rash, unhinged, spiteful. An excellent motivator. Goro Akechi wanted more, _ deserved _, more and by god would he have it. 

So as any angst ridden 14 year old he started thinking, planning. 

A plan that grew with every new detail and moment his vision of justice blossomed. Justice for his mother, his ridiculous excuse of a childhood, for _ him _. His justice looked like Masayoshi Shido dead before him. 

Maybe that’s where it began. 

It had started with a deal, a proposition. As most things did with Akechi. He was finally becoming needed, and god what he wouldn’t give. The police station needed his brains and his image, which the TV studios would start to use for their ratings and shows. 

All he was, being expertly carved out by his own genius. His pretty and innocent image only turned heads of admiration as he walked up the steps of the Diet building. 

His smile was pleasant and eyes were sweet as he introduced himself to the waiting secretary in front of Masayoshi Shidos office. She let him in without a second thought, good wishes on her lips. 

“Ah the young detective, what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?” Shido hadn’t moved from his desk, it was difficult to see his eyes and Akechi found himself almost relieved at that. His voice was laced with all the syrupy poison of a practiced politician, he would never admit how it unnerved him. 

Nevertheless he proceeded, same sweet smile on his lips, eyes soft, despite the burning fury in his gut that threatened to spill from behind the teeth currently digging into the meat of his cheek. 

“I was simply hoping to meet someone I deeply admire, and offer my services if so desired.” He swallowed back the bile rising in his throat with another smile. “I’ve always been interested in politics and find your view for this country inspiring, It would be an honor t aid you in any of your future campaigns.” He made sure the words didn’t sound rehearsed, genuine, awed. 

The words tasted like blood. 

Shido smiled, a thin lipped smile, he resembled a viper, Akechi was looking for all signs of a coming strike. 

Instead he rested his head on the back of his laced hands, gazing up at him through an orange tinted glare. Shido raised one hand, as a sign for him to continue his sales pitch for his soul. 

“I’m sure you will prove, very useful.” 

That’s how it began. 

With a promise. 

All it was a means to an end. 

A blinding, bloody, _ spectacular _, end. 

He left Shidos office that day giddy, ignoring the trembling in his hands as he looked over the new contact number in his phone. Ignoring the anger and disgust at remembering how similar their jaws were. Everything was falling into place and soon, one day, he’d have Shido right where he wanted him. 

Laying dead in front of him. 

The adrenaline of his working plan kept him going for months, every meeting, every well timed lie, every piece of fabricated bullshit that he created Shido ate up. 

Shido would ask about cases he’s worked, about how Akechi figured it out, all while ooh-ing and ah-ing at his genius. 

Akechi couldn’t be more thrilled. His apartment echoed with the quiet sounds of manic laughter as the days went by. Shido was starting to trust him, Akechi’s knife was starting to dig into his side. 

It all came to a quiet halt one seemingly regular afternoon.

Shido gave him a gift. 

A sleek black box. It looked elegant, expensive, heavy. 

“To help you fulfill your full potential.” He had said. Something about how his eyes gleamed with power, his words practically dripping toxic waste, made Akechi’s blood run cold. 

The silver buckled were frigid underneath his fingertips, he wondered if that was his nerves or simply the coolness of the metal. The soft sound of the claps unbuckling barely contained the gasp that escaped him once he saw the contents. 

A gun. A clip. And silencer. 

All sleek black, cushioned in velvet. As if to take the edge off the weapon it contained. 

That’s where it truly began. 

His services.

It was all a means to an end. 

He had thanked him. Thanked him and rolled the unloaded gun in his hand. It was heavy. Heavier than he imagined. 

Shido only smiled, his same sick smile. 

“I’ll show you how to use it,” Akechi prided himself on how he didn’t let his shout of denial rush out of his throat. “I expect great things from you.” 

Akechi nodded. He couldn’t breathe. 

They set a time and day. 

Akechi couldn’t breathe. 

Not for the rest of the day. Or the days that followed. 

Shido didn’t drive him. Nor did he offer. Simply sending a text containing the shooting ranges address.

So Akechi paid the 2 dollars worth of toll and sat. Waited, watching out the window as buildings and telephone lines blurred on top of a sunset backdrop. 

The shooting range was sketchy at best, with a neon sign with broken lights and a greasy alleyway door entrance. 

Shido showed up late. The workers turning a blind eye at the clearly underaged teen, instead guiding them to range, a case of bullets thrusted into Akechi’s hands. 

It smelled like gunpowder and sweat. Akechi could practically taste the excess of testosterone wafting in the room. Shido paid it no mind. 

Beginning to teach him how to load the gun.

_Akechi tried not to think about how most children learn how to ride a bike with their father. _

Then how to cock it.

_How most children learn how to tie their shoes with their father. _

How to aim.

_They play catch together._

“Shoot.” 

And he did.

The recoil shocked him, his arm jerking back. it was by pure luck he didn’t completely drop the gun.

Shido laughed, an ugly cruel sound. Akechi could barely make it out over his ringing ears. Shido had never given him earmuffs, he realized. 

He had aimed for the chest, he had barely missed the left wrist. 

“Again.” Shido’s voice was cold, biting more than the metal in his hand. “Like this.” 

Shido’s hands were over his own, one long finger pressing into his over the trigger. Akechi wanted to push him off, bite his hand until he let go. 

He didn’t.

He took a breath. 

It was all a means to an end.

He smiled, it felt worn and plastic on his face. 

He aimed, and braced himself. 

He shot.

A perfect clean shot to the head. 

Shido laughed with approval, with disgusting mirth. Giving him a tap on his hand. Another brush of freezing fingers, devoid of any warmth. 

Akechi’s nails dug into his left palm with the recoil, whole the nails of his right hand dug in with every “helping” hand from Shido. 

Cold blooded, a reptile, _ inhuman _. 

The words circled in his head. Made him dizzy along with the ringing in his ears. 

He shot until his ears buzzed, his palm bled openly, until Shido’s touch felt lukewarm. 

“Out of bullets, We’ll continue tomorrow.” Was all Shido said before leaving, taking the empty box of bullets with him, a dismissing wave of acknowledgement to akechi. 

Akechi’s body was still vibrating from every shot, his eyes strained and itches from the gunpowder, his nose was stuffy yet all he could smell was the metallic tang of sparking metal and Shido’s suffocating cologne. 

He brought the target paper closer to him. Some missed shots but the paper was torn to pieces at the chest and head. 

The pride that bubbled up his spine was chilling. _ It’s so cold, _ he thought. _ It’s always been so cold. _

The barrel of his gun was hot, he didn’t flinch as he held it, didn’t flinch as it irritates the blisters on his palm. 

He took a breath.

And laughed.

It echoed in the room, bouncing back to his already sore ears, he laughed until his belly ached, until tears of exertion sprang from his eyes. 

Shido was teaching him to shoot to kill. Training his murderer how best to murder. _ Shido was polishing the gun that would put a bullet in him. _

The thought thrilled him. The irony amused him. He couldn’t wait for his justice to be complete. 

It was all a means to an end.

The next day, Akechi wore gloves. 

He got used to it. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m thinking of adding another part to this. This time with him getting used to feeling again, dealing with the consequences of his actions. Post engine room battle where he lives and gets to heal and grow and change. Because that’s what he fucking deserves and if atlus won’t deliver I FUCKING WILL. Thank u hope u enjoyed!


End file.
